"When I see it I'll believe it," retorted the man-at-arms sturdily.
Ere nightfall the wind dropped, and the Grâce à Dieu floundered sluggishly in the long rolling swell. Under the influence of this unaccustomed motion Richard Ratclyffe was the first to succumb to the woeful malady of sea-sickness. Geoffrey was soon in like case. The others, having crossed the sea beforetimes, were more hardened to its usages.
"Go below and lie down awhile," counselled Arnold Gripwell. "Ere ye wake the evil will have left you."
"I would there were some other way of crossing to France," said Geoffrey miserably.
"'Tis part of the game, and must be borne with a good heart," replied Gripwell. "This is the only way, and ever will be the only way, as far as I can see, unless men devise a means of flying thither through the air. How think ye, Master Ratclyffe," he added slyly, but the squire was beyond the sting of banter.
Lulled by the motion of the vessel, Geoffrey sank into a deep yet troubled slumber, nor did he awake till he was aroused by the man-at-arms shaking him by the shoulder.
"Up with ye, Master Geoffrey," he exclaimed. "There's foul work without, and if so be we can play our part every man jack will be wanted."
"What's amiss?" asked the lad, sitting up. All feelings of sea-sickness had left him; excitement had conquered the landsman's arch-enemy.
"On deck, and thou'lt see," replied Gripwell curtly as he hastened to rouse the other lads.
It was a strange sight that greeted Geoffrey Lysle as he gained the deck. Day had just broken, and the pale grey light revealed the presence of two ships lying a mile or so to leeward of the Grâce à Dieu.